


October 2018

by babybrotherdean



Series: 365 challenge: 2018 [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-07-28 01:00:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 19,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16230929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybrotherdean/pseuds/babybrotherdean
Summary: Collection of 365 ficlets for the month of October.





	1. Two-Hundred Seventy-Four: Poison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is becoming increasingly apparent that Dean Winchester’s emotions are causing a fundamental problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loosely following some Inktober prompts for fun. Today was "poison", so we're back to Michael!Dean.

It is becoming increasingly apparent that Dean Winchester’s emotions are causing a fundamental problem.

Michael has been working to ignore them. He is, of course, a being of much greater power and importance than a human being; one of God’s most powerful warriors, and certainly one able to rise above the messy matter of a human’s flawed existence. So for a while, he resists, burying the echoes of Dean’s thoughts and feelings under the vitality of his mission. The all-consuming nature of his purpose in this world.

It only works for a short while. Most notably, after an unfortunate encounter with Sam Winchester, his efforts begin to buckle and crack.

Whatever possessed his father to tie a pair of souls so closely together, Michael will never understand. Whatever freak accident of creation has caused the Winchesters to be this way, it is near impossible for Michael to disregard; Dean’s feelings are too powerful and too noisy. The closer they become intertwined, the more Michael feels himself affected; the more this mistake seeps into him, poisoning the very essence of his grace. Even as he works to carry out his holy mission, his vessel’s need- for there is no other word to describe this desperate, pressing thing- is a constant, overriding presence.  _Sam_ , says the constant mantra in the back of his head,  _SamSamSam_.

It needs to stop.

To harness the full power of his connection with Dean- the power of his true vessel, his sword- Michael must allow himself to bond with Dean’s soul at a subatomic level. It has been a slow process, and one which Dean has been fighting vehemently, with every fibre of his being. It is this process that has brought them so close, and for which Michael blames this gradual onset of disease. This inexplicable human weakness.

 _Sam_.

“What are you doing?” And of course, Dean notices right away when Michael begins to undo it all. To unwind himself from the inner workings of Dean’s soul in an attempt to create some distance. Some fine line between himself and whatever troubles his vessel so deeply. “What- what’s going on?”

Michael never answers him, but perhaps he feels better for the ability to ask, all the same. Already, there’s a sense of power fading- the connection is weaker, and like this, it’ll be impossible to harness the fullest extent of their combined strength- but Michael consoles himself with the knowledge that no being exists that could hope to oppose him. His brother is dead. In this world, archangels are no more. Certainly, the scrap of grace imprisoned in the fires of Hell is of no concern to him.

And yet. Still, it unsettles him to seek this detachment. It feels fundamentally wrong to back away from this unity, but the need is too great. Even now, the mantra continues, albeit distantly. Unending, and ceaseless in its desperation.

_SamSamSamSamSamSamSamSam-_

Michael wonders, as he begins to build himself a wall, how Dean Winchester has survived for so long like this. How he hasn’t driven himself mad with the pure, blind need. How any two creatures of such low celestial standing could bear to exist in this way, cursed to live in two bodies and breathe as one soul.

 _Sam_.

Disturbed by his own musings, Michael becomes more aggressive in his work. Dean protests, confused and scared, but he is becoming easier to ignore.

The sacrifice of power will be worth the continued possession of his own sanity. He is sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	2. Two-Hundred Seventy-Five: Wounded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the rain on his face and the blood filling his ears, it's easy for Dean to imagine that this is what peace feels like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts for today were "wounded" and "tranquil".

With the rain on his face and the blood filling his ears, it's easy for Dean to imagine that this is what peace feels like. He can almost pretend that it's quiet, and that the numbness spreading in from his fingertips is something healthy. Something good.

He'd always figured he would die like this. Alone in a ditch somewhere behind an abandoned warehouse, lying in a puddle of his own blood and staring up at a starless sky. He's too close to the city; all he can pick out is the nearly-full moon, shining bright and proud from where it peeks out behind the cloud cover. He stopped feeling cold a couple minutes ago, but he can hear the wind, somewhere distant. It's the kind of night where people ought to be curled up inside with a hot drink and a loved one.

That's a bitter thought. He figures Sam might have that right now, cozied up with his pretty girlfriend. Too busy to pick up the damn phone.

Dean could try again, maybe. He's not sure he'd be able to press all the buttons to type in Sam's number, but redial is a little less complicated. He considers it for a few minutes, tilting his head to look at the dark screen, but ultimately, his ambition fails him. There's no use. He doesn't want to bother his brother over something like this. He probably wouldn't want to know.

Maybe that's what's got Dean so apathetic about this whole ordeal. He's lost track of how long he's been here, the shapeshifter off to terrorize somebody else for a little while, but he can feel himself fading. Slowly. Too slowly, maybe, for all the self-reflecting it's making him do. Maybe it's why he feels like he's found a sense of tranquility, too; he knows nobody's going to miss him, and being dead- hell, maybe being dead will be better than being alone. Better than continuing to trudge through this existence where his only companion is the car he drives and the music he plays to drown out the silence.

He's getting too damn sentimental. Must be close, now.

He closes his eyes because the moon is starting to bother him. Just another part of his life that's too far away; that manages to be a constant, nagging presence no matter how distant it is. Something he wishes he could forget about, something he can't stop fucking  _calling_ -

Yeah. Yeah, it won't be much longer now.

Somewhere far away, a sensation starts to travel up his arm. A tingling, or a buzzing. There's a sound that goes with it, too- something too noisy and disruptive for this quiet moment. Something that makes Dean frown.

It's his phone. His phone is ringing, where it sits in his hand.

Dean breathes out a laugh and turns his face away. Can't bring himself to read the caller ID because it's too little, too late, and he just wants to go to sleep.

Sam's better off not knowing. Dean doesn't want to bother him any more than he already has. He doesn't deserve that. Not even now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	3. Two-Hundred Seventy-Six: Introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a bit of a hike to reach the edge of the river out in the woods by campus, but Jensen knows from experience that it’s worth the effort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Silly J2 thing with werewolf!Jared.

It’s a bit of a hike to reach the edge of the river out in the woods by campus, but Jensen knows from experience that it’s worth the effort. He hauls his backpack out with him, carrying his writing supplies and a thermos of hot coffee, and he goes straight to his usual spot; a little outcropping of rock that makes a perfect seat. It gives him a nice view of the water as it rushes by, and once he digs out his notebook and a pen, it makes for an excellent source of white noise- nothing like the babbling of a stream to get the creative juices flowing.

The distressed yelp that comes from somewhere upstream is decidedly not something he’s used to, though, and when he looks towards the source of the noise, pen still in hand, he doesn’t get any less confused.

There’s some kind of dark mass bobbing along the water, coming towards him at the speed of any other sort of debris. It’s too big to be a regular chunk of wood, though, and as it gets closer, Jensen is able to recognize not only the texture of the thing- thick animal fur- but also the fact that it’s moving, and almost certainly alive.

He’s barely able to scramble to his feet by the time the creature starts to make some kind of coordinated movement and he’s able to better identify it: it’s a wolf. It’s a huge fucking wolf, tawny-brown and starting to move with the current and coming very quickly towards Jensen’s side of the shore, and- and yeah, that’s a problem. That’s a pretty big fucking problem.

Unfortunately, he finds himself rooted to the ground, watching in a mild state of shock as the thing finally reaches the shore. It stumbles to its feet like it’s drunk, and it gives itself a rough shake, and it makes a sound that’s kind of like a grunt. And then, before Jensen’s eyes, it starts to... change.

Maybe he fell asleep on his rock and he’s started dreaming. That could happen, right?

The wolf shifts smoothly, curling in on itself as its fur disappears, revealing bare skin. Claws retract, the muzzle shrinks; it’s like something out of a Halloween movie, and Jensen is gaping when the whole process is over. The wolf is gone; standing before him now is most definitely a man. A human man.

A very naked, very handsome human man.

“Um.” The sound escapes him unwillingly. Too close to a squeak to be called anything but. “Um-?”

The wolf-man startles, looking up at Jensen likes he’s only just realized he isn’t alone here. Judging by the blush that blooms across his cheeks, maybe he has. “Oh, I- shit- you- how long have you been standing there?”

Jensen’s stunned silence probably speaks for itself.

“Shit. Okay. Um-” The man fumbles, then gives himself a rough shake, startlingly reminiscent of the wolf’s actions moments before. “Um. I’m Jared. What’s your name?”

Jensen stares for a moment in stupefied silence. “Jensen.” Beat. “Did you just...?”

Jared laughs awkwardly and looks back towards the water. “Yeah, uh- here, look, if you promise not to scream and run away, I’ll tell you everything, okay?” He pauses for a short moment, then shoots a glance towards Jensen’s thermos, sitting unattended by the rock. “And if I can have a sip of your coffee.”

How the hell is he supposed to say no to a werewolf?

“It better be good.”

Jared grins at him. He seems entirely unconcerned by his own nudity. “Great. C’mon, it’s story-time.”

Slowly, Jensen sits back down on his rock. He doesn’t take his eyes off Jared, though he’s careful t keep them at a respectable altitude, no matter how distracting.

“So,” Jared says, “it all started with a stupid game.”

Yeah. This ought to be good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	4. Two-Hundred Seventy-Seven: Love Spell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not that Jensen is usually the type to resort to love spells.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The word for today was "spell", and this is a silly thing with witch!Jensen. And college AU?

It’s not that Jensen is usually the type to resort to love spells. Of course he knows plenty of other witches who deal them out like candy; they’re an easy way to manipulate unsuspecting mortals and get pretty much anything out of anyone, but besides the moral implications- something rubs him the wrong way about forcing somebody to fall in love only to immediately abandon them- it’s just always struck him as a kind of cheating. A shortcut when there are more creative, less morally dubious ways to solve problems.

But. Well. There’s a guy.

Jensen first noticed him during a few shared classes- a head of shaggy hair that kept towards the front of the room, usually surrounded by friends and chattering away until the professor started their lecture. There was something about his sunny disposition that made it hard not to pay attention to him; something that made it hard to look away. 

Later, it was on the football field when that same familiar face had caught Jensen’s eye, throwing a ball around with some friends. He’s learned since then that Jared- his name is Jared- is on the varsity team. That he plays other sports, too. That he doesn’t quite fit into the “jock” label, but it’s the easiest way to categorize him, and it tends to be what most people stick to.

He’s also learned that Jared tutors other students in English, volunteers at a local animal shelter, and sits as acting president for the college’s competitive chess team. Jensen’s done his homework, and everything he’s found makes him want to know Jared just a little bit more. 

And so comes his dilemma. Jensen is shy to a fault; he keeps to himself unless absolutely necessary, and the thought of approaching someone like Jared- someone who’s always surrounded by friends or teammates- and trying to start a conversation is absolutely petrifying. But a little drop of the right potion, or a quick, whispered incantation, and…

No. No, the more he thinks about it, the more he hates the thought of trying to do something so underhanded. Even if it worked, he would surely never forgive himself. Jensen rubs at his face in frustration; he’s sitting on the bleachers by the field now, having gotten himself into the habit of hanging around during football practice. He usually tries to get some work done while he’s here, but today- even with the gorgeous autumn weather and relatively low level of background noise- he can’t focus. Not with Jared so prominent in his thoughts.

Tangled up as he is in his own conflict, Jensen startles badly when somebody speaks to him, and it doesn’t get any better when he realizes who it is.

“You’re Jensen, right?” And it’s Jared. Of course it’s Jared; this is just exactly Jensen’s luck. Practice must’ve just ended, because Jared’s still in his gear, grass-stained and all, a little sweaty. He’s got a smile on his face and they’re making eye contact and Jensen thinks he might combust on the spot. “I’ve seen you around for the last few practices. We’ve got some classes together, right?”

Well, at least he’s not totally invisible. “I- yeah,” Jensen manages. Right. Best not ruin the chance he’s been handed. “That’s me. I just- it’s a good spot. To sit, you know. And work.” He makes a half-hearted gesture to the blank notebook he’s got open beside him. 

Jared hums, as if that’s a completely reasonable explanation. Bullet dodged. “Anyways, I- um-” And he fumbles, and Jensen’s baffled, because he doesn’t seem like the type of person who would be capable of anything short of perfection. “I was wondering if you were free? And if you wanted to- y'know- grab a cup of coffee? Or something?”

Coffee. A cup of coffee.

Jensen tries not to get too worked up about that.

“I’m free,” he says, maybe too quickly, but Jared doesn’t seem to mind. “And- yeah. Yeah, I’d really like that.” And he smiles, and he feels warm, and he’s glad he’s put that love spell thought out of his mind. “Um- now, or-?”

“Yeah!” Jared nods, considerably brighter now- a significant thing, considering his typical demeanour. “I just need to shower and change, but- it’ll just be a few minutes. Will you still be here?”

Jared showering. That’s a thought that Jensen needs to struggle to put out of his mind. “Yeah. I’ll be here.”

“Great.” Another bright smile, and Jared waves as he turns to head towards the locker room. “I’ll see you in a few!”

And with that, he’s off, a bounce in his step as Jensen watch him go. Jensen’s heart is beating just a little faster than normal, and he needs a moment to breathe, trying to come to terms with what’s just fallen into his lap.

Yeah. Love spells are absolutely overrated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	5. Two-Hundred Seventy-Eight: Vessel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Archangels are especially prone to damaging improper vessels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a BIG Michael!Dean mood as of late.

Archangels are especially prone to damaging improper vessels. Their grace shines so brightly, emits so much power that most humans are simply incapable of coming into contact with it and surviving. Only the appropriate bloodline- only a vessel crafted for the very purpose of housing such an immaculate being- can hope to make it through such an ordeal in one piece.

These are the things that Michael has known for a very long time. Something new to him, however, is the understanding that a resilient vessel is also an irritating one.

Dean is ceaseless in his rebellion, constant noise in his head that tries to interfere with his work. Demanding attention, demanding freedom, demanding any number of things that Michael has no intention of offering him. He is nothing more than a pest; the price to pay for having his perfect physical form.

Things change when Dean’s annoyances become more targeted.

“You really think this is all worth it?” Constant chatter in the back of Michael’s mind. Easy to tune out when he pays it no attention. “Everything you’ve done? All the people you’ve hurt, the worlds you’ve destroyed?”

Dean, Michael has learned, is very concerned with the small things. He has no mind for the bigger picture; unable to see the greater good for which Michael fights. Every life lost, every bone broken; all of it is monumental to his human host. It is as fascinating as it is baffling.

“And how about killing your own brother?” Still, Dean persists. Michael clenches his teeth. “I bet that felt good, huh? Real good guy move.”

And for some reason, this is what digs deep. This is the comment that crawls under Michael’s skin and demands retaliation; the one that actually makes him feel something, even as he tries to refuse it. His brother. Lucifer.

“Silence yourself.” It is quick and sharp and the first direct acknowledgement he has offered to Dean. Perhaps it surprises him, because he does as he is told. “This is not your concern.”

It’s only a matter of time before Dean’s pestering continues, but it is this single train of thought upon which Michael remains fixed. On everything he has done to get where he is and enact his destiny; on turning against his own brother for the sake of fulfilling his vision of the world. He remembers the feeling of sinking his blade into Lucifer’s chest- his Lucifer; not the pale imitation of this world- and he remembers watching the final, dying flare of his brother’s grace.

He remembers feeling something then, too. Something similar to the way Dean felt when they first came together; a desperate, crushing sort of grief. A brother lost.

He shuts it away with everything else and continues on his way. His mission comes before all else. This is the way it must be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	6. Two-Hundred Seventy-Nine: Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s too hot and Dean’s pocket feels like it weighs a thousand pounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started LiS2 today and just. Trying to decide whether or not to steal to provide for my little brother was ;-;

It’s too hot and Dean’s pocket feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. Everywhere he looks, he can feel eyes on him, even though nobody is paying him any particular amount of attention as they shuffle through the little convenience store. They don’t care what some kid is doing, no matter how his face burns or how he keeps his hands stuffed deep into his pockets.

It’s stupid to be doing this. It’s stupid and reckless and he’s going to get caught, but the look on Sam’s face when Dean had to tell him they couldn’t afford a dumb chocolate bar- man, the kid looked like a kicked puppy. And it’s true; they can’t afford it. They’re barely scraping by on instant macaroni, and Dean’s got this constant, sinking awareness of how many dollars they’ve got left, but Sam just-

Sam deserves better. Sam deserves to have something nice for once.

So Dean’s got a chocolate bar in his pocket and he’s trying to look like anything but a criminal as he heads back towards the door. The lady behind the counter looks nice, and maybe she’d let him get away with it if he explained what was going on, but it doesn’t stop the horrible, twisting feeling in his gut when she glances towards him as he passes by.

“Have a nice day, dear,” is all she says, and she smiles, and Dean tries to reciprocate. Mostly, he tries not to let the nausea get the better of him.

He gets out of the store in one piece and then it’s just a struggle not to run all the way back to the motel, fear and adrenaline all mingled together in his blood. It’s just a chocolate bar, it’s just a stupid chocolate bar, but he still tenses at the sound of sirens, far off in some neighbourhood. He walks faster and doesn’t stop until the motel door closes behind him.

Sam’s doing his homework in bed, and it’s not until Dean approaches that he looks up. Not as sad as he was earlier, but not happy, either. “Hey.”

“Hey.” And this time, Dean does manage to smile. He pulls the chocolate bar out of his pocket, a magician performing his final trick, and waves it for his brother to see. “Guess what I got?”

Sam’s eyes light up like it’s Christmas morning, and he scrambled to sit up. “Dean! How’d you- is it for me?”

Dean’s glad that the line of questioning stops before it begins. “Yeah, kiddo. It’s all yours.”

Sam takes the bar like it’s made of solid gold, and he looks at Dean like he’s gone and hung the moon in the sky. “Thanks, Dean. You’re the best.”

Dean smiles, and he sits down with his little brother while Sam unwraps his treat. The sick feeling has mostly faded, replaced with a warm kind of satisfaction as he watches the excitement and joy in Sam’s face. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

It might be the first time he steals for his baby brother- and it might be the hardest time, before he learns better than to let the guilt overtake him- but it’s far from the last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	7. Two-Hundred Eighty: Visitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a rough night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm calling this "grizzled dad AU", in which John isn't the boys' father, but he ends up having to take care of them when they stumble into his life.

It's been a rough night. A day's worth of sleepy rain has evolved into a full-blown thunderstorm, the clouds blacking out the moon and stars as John  makes the trek up the driveway towards his cabin. The truck hasn't been cooperating lately, and he doesn't want to risk forcing it uphill through the mud. It's no weather to be getting himself stuck.

Tight at his side, Brutus keeps his head down against the rain. He's a good companion, especially after so many years of living alone, and dogs don't ask questions the way that people do. They don't judge, and they don't expect much of anything from him. All Brutus needs is regular feeding and an occasional scratch behind the ear. The two of them have a good thing worked out, and when Brutus goes tense at his side, a low, gruff noise escaping him- well, John knows better than to ignore it.

He notices the disturbance just a second after his dog; up ahead, where he can barely make out the shape of his home through the tree cover, there's a light on. John is always meticulous about turning them off when he goes out, and after everything he's experienced in his life, he jumps to the worst scenario. Break-in. Maybe a couple of stupid teenagers, maybe an armed professional. There's no telling with this kind of thing, but whatever the case may be, he's not the type to turn around and run.

"Easy, boy," he murmurs, and listens to Brutus growl again as they get closer. "Easy."

It's the kitchen light. John squints through the glare as he approaches the front door, holds his breath as he touches the handle. Still locked, so they got in a different way. Maybe he left a window open; it's not usually a problem this deep in the woods. He's still careful as he unlocks the door, and he steels himself before pushing it open, careful to keep as quiet as he can.

It doesn't seem like his visitors have the same concern. Soon as he steps inside, even past the rain pounding outside, he can hear somebody rifling around in the kitchen. Squeaky shoes on the tile floor, pots and pans and things knocking together. Whoever it is, they're not very good at what they're doing, and John exhales slowly as he reaches for the shotgun he keeps by the door. Probably just some kids, then, trying to break some rules. He'll give them a good scare and move on with his life. No harm done.

When he closes the front door behind him, he's intentionally noisy. Slams it just a little too hard and hears the way the noise in the kitchen stops. "Who's there?" he calls out, voice steady. "Come on out. We don't have to have any trouble."

At his side. Brutus is a long line of tension. John keeps him close and waits, counting in his head. Thirty seconds, and he'll go investigate for himself. The sight of his dog and his gun should be enough to send anyone running, especially someone stupid enough to be so sloppy about breaking in. He's too tired to deal with this shit right now.

Except. Well. Things don't seem quite so cut-and-dry when the perpetrator tiptoes their way out of the kitchen.

Slowly, he reaches out to turn on the hall light, and even the better lighting doesn't answer any of his questions. John figures the kid can't be older than five, curled in on himself and dripping wet. Must've been out in the storm, then. His clothes are tattered, and he doesn't have a jacket. Doesn't have anything on him, actually, except a makeshift backpack of some kind, and when the kid shifts his weight just so, John can see-

"Is that a baby?" And he takes a step forward like he wants to get a better look, but the kid makes a choked-off sound of terror and John suddenly remembers what he's got in his hands. Real slow, he sets the gun down, chest tight for pulling it in the first place. What the hell is a kid doing here? "Hey- look, hey. I'm not gonna hurt you. Promise."

The kid doesn't trust him. It's weird to see such a closed-off expression on somebody so- so small. But he's shaking like a leaf and he looks like he might just pass out on the spot. "I- I don't b'lieve you."

John exhales slowly, and he glances down at Brutus. Even his dog seems to be caught off-guard, ears perked in curiosity and clearly wanting to investigate further. When he looks towards the kid, he's watching Brutus, too, obviously wary. John decides to try a different tactic. "This is Brutus. He's nicer than he looks."

Hesitation. "He is?"

"Yeah." Promising. John offers a tiny smile. "You wanna meet him?"

It works. The kid takes a tiny step forward, and after an uncertain glance at John, he's fixed on Brutus again, carefully holding out one of his hands towards the dog. "Puppy?"

Brutus shoots a side-glance at John, and John nods. "Go ahead. Say hi."

Things loosen up as Brutus trots towards the kid, and though the kid looks a little tense- as soon as Brutus leans in and pushes his muzzle into the kid's hand, he seems to relax. A tiny smile grows on his face, and he whispers a greeting, just loud enough for John to hear. "I'm- I'm Dean. Hi."

Dean. There's a kid in his house with an infant on his back, and John doesn't have a goddamn idea of what he's supposed to do.

This is a very rare moment in which he wishes he wasn't on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	8. Two-Hundred Eighty-One: Shelter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean’s trust is bought with a bowl of soup and some apple sauce, plus Brutus’ continued presence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next part of the grizzled dad AU. ^^

Dean’s trust is bought with a bowl of soup and some apple sauce, plus Brutus’ continued presence. He still looks at John like he’s suspicious- an odd expression to see on such a young kid- but he eats the dinner he’s offered and accepts a blanket, for lack of any dry clothes that’ll fit somebody his size. He feeds the baby he’s got with him before eating his own meal- Sammy; the baby’s name is Sammy- and doesn’t let go of the kid for one second. John learns that they’re brothers, and that’s as much as he gets until Dean’s done with his food.

“We- we just had to go,” he says haltingly, once John’s cleaning up the dishes. He’s still a little lost on this whole situation, but he knows that if a pair of kids have stumbled this far out into the woods, then the best thing he can do for them is give them a warm place to stay the night. “I gotta- I gotta keep Sammy safe.”

It doesn’t make much sense until he coaxes the soaking-wet hoodie off of Dean, promising to dry it for him, and sees the first hint of bruising on soft, freckled skin.

Dean doesn’t tell him much- maybe he can’t, or maybe he doesn’t want to- but John fills in enough blanks for himself to decide he shouldn’t call the cops. Wherever these two boys came from, it’s obvious enough that they shouldn’t go back. He’s seen enough in his time to recognize the way that Dean curls in on himself, the way he flinches, the way he won’t look John straight in the eye for more than a couple seconds at a time, and John- John doesn’t have a goddamn clue what he’s supposed to do about this, except for that a couple of kids need his help and he’s far from heartless.

“I can get you some dry clothes tomorrow.” So here he is, getting the pair of them all tucked into his own bed, big and warm and dry as it is. They need it more than he does tonight. “The bathroom’s right there, and- look, if you need anything, I’ll be right out here. Okay?”

Dean looks even smaller all bundled up in bed, but he’s still got a fierce expression, holding his brother close even as his eyelids threaten to close on him. “You… you won’t tell anybody?”

“I won’t.” John knows better. If they had to run away in the first place, the police probably can’t help them. “You’re safe here. I promise.”

He leaves the bedroom door ajar and lets Brutus nose his way inside. The kids have already taken a liking to him, and when he hops up onto the bed to curl up by Dean’s feet- well, it seems to set him at ease, just a little bit. John doesn’t even mind that he’s on the furniture. With a small huff of breath, he turns to head back into the living room, intent on getting the couch ready for himself while his mind runs in circles trying to figure out what else he’s supposed to do.

The boys can’t go back home. And John refuses to just drop them off with the police or CPS; God knows where they’ll end up if he tries. It’s becoming slowly apparent that he doesn’t have a whole lot of options here, and as he settles onto the couch and stares up at the ceiling, listening for any signs of distress from the bedroom-

God. It’s been a long damn time since he’s had to think about being a father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	9. Two-Hundred Eighty-Two: Protector

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John wakes to an assortment of distressed noises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grizzled dad again. :>

John wakes to an assortment of distressed noises. First, a baby crying. Then a watery, high-pitched voice. His dog, making quiet, gruff noises that are usually meant to get his attention.

Slowly, he sits up on the couch, rubbing at his forehead as he tries to make sense of the situation. The memories come back to him in pieces, and then he’s standing, shaking the grogginess away and making for the bedroom.

Brutus is on the bed, pressed low against the mattress and nosing at the children still tucked under the blankets. Even in the darkness, John can make out their forms; Dean is sitting up now, and he’s got his little brother in his arms, talking unsteadily and rocking them both. If he notices John come in, he doesn’t say anything about it or change his behaviour.

John takes the liberty of speaking up, slow and careful when he moves to the edge of the bed. “Dean? You okay, buddy?”

Dean startles, and Sammy cries harder. Brutus stays right where he is, even shuffling a little closer like he intends to protect them. “M- Mr. John- I didn’t- w didn’t-”

“Hey.” John softens his voice and sits on the edge of the bed, not wanting to scare them any worse. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” He waits for a moment, then pushes. He knows this behaviour well enough. “Nightmare?”

Dean doesn’t say anything at first. He’s still trying to calm his little brother, and Sammy seems to be tiring himself out with all the fussing. When the response comes, it comes quietly. Tentative. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.” John tries not to imagine what a kid Dean’s age has to be so scared of. Maybe one day, he’ll know, but for now, his imagination paints a nasty picture. “You okay?”

Dean reaches up and scrubs at his nose. Tries to rock Sammy a little more as he starts to settle. “Y-yeah.”

Maybe a lie, but John lets it go. He reaches out to give Brutus a pat. He hasn’t missed the way Dean keeps sneaking glances at him. “He looks kinda scary, but he’s good for cuddling. Really friendly.”

Finally, Sammy seems to be completely tuckered out. He’s quiet again, just letting out occasional sniffles and hiccups. Dean looks relieved, and he reaches out to touch Brutus, too, a careful hand on his nose. “He’s nice,” Dean whispers. “I, um- I like him.”

With a smile, John gives the dog a scratch behind the ears and gets a grumble in return. “He’s good for chasing away nightmares, too. You wanna try sleeping again?”

A moment of hesitation, and then Dean gives a tiny nod. He still looks nervous, but when Brutus shuffles a little closer and puts his head in Dean’s lap, Dean seems to calm down a bit. “Okay.”

“Alright.” John pauses for a moment, then reaches out, gentle and slow, to push his fingers through Dean’s hair. Dean tenses and watches him with big eyes, but doesn’t pull away. “If you wanna talk about anything… I’ll listen, okay? Just let me know.”

Dean nods and slowly wiggles back down under the covers. Brutus stays close, and Dean looks like he can almost relax. “Okay,” he whispers again. “Um- night-night.”

“Night.” John offers a tiny smile and stands up, giving Brutus another pat. “He’ll keep you safe.”

With that, he heads out of the room, leaving the door open again and turning on a light in the hall. He sits down hard on the couch and huffs out a breath, closing his eyes as he wonders what to do.

He’s had nightmares before. He still does; remembers the empty look of terror on his wife’s face when he found her body. Remembers the blood and how it looked on his hands when he’d held her; remembers the monster that did it to her. Remembers the tiny plus sign, weeks before her death, marking the loss of a second life.

No child deserves to suffer something like that.

First thing tomorrow, he’ll do something to help. He’ll do everything in his power to make sure the boys newly in his care won’t have to go through the same thing- or at least, he’ll make it as bearable as he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	10. Two-Hundred Eighty-Three: Recoil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kick is worse, somehow, outside of a training environment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt was "weapon", so... the first time Dean shoots to kill.

The kick is worse, somehow, outside of a training environment. It’s like being shoved back, quick and harsh, by some violent thing; even with the butt of the gun braced against his shoulder, Dean staggers back, eyes wide as he tries to make sense of an abruptly confusing world.

Somewhere in front of him, the man staggers back, looking just as shocked as Dean feels, fumbling blindly at his own chest while the blood starts to soak through. Buckshot’ll do that to a guy; Dean has the presence of mind to think that the shirt is completely done for before the man hits the ground. Maybe he’s dead. Dean can’t say for sure.

Somewhere behind him- tucked under the bed, or bundled away in the closet- Sammy is hiding. Just like Dean told him to, because when Dad’s away, Dean’s in charge, and Sammy knows how important it is to do what he’s told when something scary happens. When strange men knock on the door with slurred voices and demand to speak to John Winchester; when the cabin they’re renting isn’t safe anymore and Dean catches a glimpse of metal in the darkness.

It’s terrifying, and he’s shaking, and he’s going to have bruises tomorrow. He thinks he needs to call his dad.

“Dean?” But Sammy comes first, and Sammy’s scared, too. Sammy runs out from his hiding place and Dean’s quick to switch his focus; his brother’s too little to see a body, even if the man is still alive. Too little to be involved in any of this. “Are- are you-?”

“I’m okay.” Dean takes his brother right into his arms and holds on tight, because Sammy’s good for this kind of thing. Being a comfort. A six-year-old teddy bear for Dean to hug when he’s shaken by something like this. “I’m okay, Sammy. Are you?”

He gets a nod in return, and right now, that’s the only thing that matters. Dean shuts the door on the body outside and he picks up the cell phone Dad left behind- emergencies only, emergencies like this- and he makes a call, holding his brother all the while.

The shotgun, he leaves on the floor when he’s done. He’s still shaking with its recoil and the thought of touching it again petrifies him after seeing its damage up close. He doesn’t like the thought of what he’s just done to that man, no matter what danger he might’ve posed.

The shooting is a whole lot easier than the asking questions. Dean thinks he’d rather avoid that part altogether, given the chance. And with Sammy to distract him now- Sammy to take care of, before anything else- he figures it won’t be a problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	11. Two-Hundred Eighty-Four: Power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There will be no new King of Hell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for 14.01!

_“There will be no new King of Hell.”_

It’s a familiar feeling, this power. An old friend, dusting itself off from the depths of his memories; a hand on his shoulder that guides him. A voice that whispers in his ear and says  _you deserve this. You deserve to see them kneel._

The inside of the bar has gone absolutely still. People gasp for breath, blood flows, and the stink of sulphur is thick in the air. For this single moment, the entire world seems to be holding its breath. Sam casts his eyes across the group of demons scattered around the room, each rooted to their place and watching him with something he can only read as fear, and he feels… he feels. 

This is something he hasn’t felt in a very long time.

He remembers when this was supposed to be his destiny. Plucked from his cradle to lead the forces of Hell against all who opposed them; to be the boy king. He remembers the demon blood pumping hot through his veins and he remembers how fucking  _good_  it was, being able to curl his fingers around that intangible  _thing_ and do absolutely whatever he wanted. It was a feeling of infinity, and it was a feeling of dizzying importance. Of a million years of infinitesimal choices that brought him to where he was supposed to be.

Here and now, it comes to him again, easy as breathing. He doesn’t have the patience to wait out this fight, or to watch his friends and family get hurt any longer. He doesn’t have the time to waste here when he needs to be scouring the face of the Earth for his brother. He needs this to  _stop_ , and-

And his voice is enough. His command. And  _fuck_ , does it ever feel good when they listen.

Watching black smoke spiral out of the building feels a bit like getting high, leaving Sam dazed and warm and filled to the tips of his fingers with nervous energy. With the need to do  _more_ , to lean into this, to embrace the power and take the next step further and-

“Sam?" 

And then Mom calls for him, and Jack’s still unconscious, and Bobby’s bleeding pretty bad, and Sam- Sam’s still coming down from this heightened sense of existence, and he sees something in them, too. His family and friends. The same thing he saw in the demons, if a slightly different flavour.  _Fear_. "You good?”

Sam breathes out hard and he shakes out his shoulders and he spares a final glance for the abandoned meatsuits on the floor. He thinks about the demons, fleeing with their tails between their legs, out to spread his message to every awful thing that lives in Hell. His shiny new doctrine, freshly minted for all to see. He thinks about the way he used to be able to crush a demon’s entire being with a stray thought; about feeling the last, horrific flash of life before he extinguished them entirely. Rendered powerless. 

This new power, he thinks- this one where his words alone have the very same effect; where he can dismantle the entirety of the forces of Hell with his  _voice_ \- is somehow even better.

“Yeah,” he says, and for the first time in weeks, he almost means it. “I’m good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look. I'm real fucked up about boyking!Sam. I even proofread this one and edited it and EVERYTHING. like. don't even look at me. 
> 
> ...<3


	12. Two-Hundred Eighty-Five: Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes two more days and a coordinated effort from most of his friends before Sam drags himself to his bedroom to get some rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam sleeps, and he dreams.
> 
> 14.01 spoilers!

It takes two more days and a coordinated effort from most of his friends before Sam drags himself to his bedroom to get some rest. After Castiel’s dead end with the demons, they’re back to square one: with no real leads about Michael’s location, and no obvious direction to turn in the ongoing efforts to get Dean back. Sam is frustrated, overwhelmed, and more than anything else, absolutely exhausted. With so much on his mind, he still doesn’t find it likely that he’ll be able to fall asleep, but the days of uninterrupted work have taken their toll; he’s out as soon as his head hits the pillow.

When he opens his eyes, it’s to a familiar scene. It’s an old memory, drudged up from his childhood; the last summer he spent with his family before heading off to school. Dean’s almost twenty years younger than Sam knows him now, and the two of them are resting on the hood of the car. There’s a cooler on the ground beside the tire and Dean’s got a beer dangling between his fingers, and when Sam looks down at himself- yeah, he’s younger, suddenly, too. Still gangly and awkward at seventeen years old; bandaids on his knees and sunkissed after months spent outdoors.

“You know,” Dean says beside him, and god, what a difference a couple decades can make. Sam looks towards his brother and he’s hit hard, for a moment, with emotion; with how desperately he wants Dean back. “I kinda wish we could stay here. For just a little longer, y'know? Nice view.”

He’s right. Sam can’t remember the name of this town, but they’d found this spot a few days into their stay; a little overhang on the outskirts that gave them a hell of a vantage point to watch things from a distance. He can’t tear his eyes off his brother, but the image is still clear in his head.

His response comes to his lips like he’s reading from a script, voice softer than it was back then. “We could. You know? If- if we really wanted to.”

And Dean looks at him, barely old enough for the beer in his hand, all forest-green eyes and a summer’s worth of freckles and looking so fucking pretty. Innocent the way he can’t be anymore; in a way that makes Sam want to cry. “Could we?”

“Yeah.” Sam nods, just like he did the first time they had this conversation. No matter how thoroughly he knows that they can’t; they never could. Not back then. “We could stay. Just… just you and me. Just be normal, you know?”

Dean hums at that, and he gives Sam a crooked little half-smile. Sam feels his heart breaking in his chest because despite how long it’s been since this moment, he still loves Dean just the same way he did. This Dean, his Dean, every Dean. So fucking much. “Is that what you want?”

Something changes with those words, and Sam feels cold.

“Well? Is it?”

Dean’s not the one speaking. Not the Dean in front of him, at least.

Sam turns in tiny increments, holding his breath for what he knows he’s about to see. Past the memory, past the car, past this rose-tinted version of his big brother. Past the haze he starts to recognize as Heaven; as a dream.

It’s Dean. Today’s Dean. Standing a few feet from the car, hands in his pockets, a faint smile on his face. Sam scrambles to sit up, except that he only needs to watch Dean’s face for the span of a heartbeat before it becomes obvious that it… isn’t.

Michael watches him the way a predator watches a particularly irksome bit of prey. And maybe that’s what humans are to him; after seeing what he and his kind did to the other world, Sam doesn’t doubt it for a second. Faced with him now, Sam’s thrown; he’s been caught in a vulnerable position, and the other Dean- the softer, younger Dean- is still behind him somewhere, and maybe that’s the whole point. Maybe it’s supposed to get his guard down.

“Is that what you want?” Michael speaks again, and he takes a step forward, and he sounds almost curious. Sam hates the way he’s using Dean’s voice; almost scares himself with how quick and violent a sense of fury rises in him. That’s my brother, you twisted fuck. “To stay here?”

“What?” None of this make sense, and Sam- Sam almost stands, except the other Dean’s still going along with their little script, and this is the part where they hold hands for a while. Where Sam blushes like a schoolgirl and tries not to drown in how much his brother means to him. He doesn’t think he could pull away if he wanted to. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“It’s a simple question, Sam.” And that sounds wrong, too; Michael doesn’t say Sam’s name the way Dean does. “I want to know what you want. I’m curious.”

Sam stares at him for a moment, lips parted, because- because he doesn’t have a fucking clue what’s going on here. Is it even real? It’s always a fine line, when it comes to this sort of thing, but he knows better than to dismiss this as purely a dream. Not when it comes to a being like Michael. “What do I-?”

“Want, yes.” He must be getting impatient. Michael turns to face the view before them, distorted by time but still distantly beautiful. “Humans… you’re simple creatures. There’s always something they want for themselves. Something that they’re fighting for. So tell me, Sam Winchester. What do you want?”

And the answer comes, just like that. Forces itself from Sam’s lips against his will, because he’s so fucking done with this. “I want Dean back.”

Michael chuckles like that’s supposed to be a joke. “How very human of you. No, Sam. I want to know what you really want. There’s always something.”

And that- that just. That makes Sam so fucking angry, and it’s all too much, suddenly. So much that he pulls his hand free of Dean’s grip, and he gets off the car, and he’s his full-grown self again as he approaches Michael. He’s glad for the fact because it feels really fucking good to be taller than him when he gets close, up in his face, and just. He just.

“I want my brother back,” he says, low and vicious. “I don’t care where you are. I don’t care what you are. I’m going to find you, and I’m going to rip you out of his body. Whatever it takes, I’m going to get him back, you son of a bitch. You hear me?”

For a moment, Michael just watches him. Curious again, maybe. Silent. When he speaks again, it’s softer. “I’ll be seeing you very soon, Sam. And then we’ll see.”

Sam blinks, and Michael is gone. All that’s left is the memory of this summer day, the sun on his skin, the grass under his feet. The sound of his brother’s voice, behind him, before any of this shit started to happen. “Maybe we could go to the beach… you just got those new trunks, right, Sammy-?”

Sam wakes up in tears, gasping for breath and fumbling blindly for a grip on his sheets. His room is dark and the clock says it’s the middle of the night; the smell of ozone lingers in the air around him, and he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that it wasn’t just a dream.

With the promise of sleep yanked abruptly out of reach, Sam gets out of bed. He scrubs the tears from his cheeks and gets himself dressed and leaves the room, already running down a mental list of new leads to investigate, new angles to try, new sources to contact. He needs to find his brother, more than anything else, and he won’t waste another second on something that isn’t this search.

At the backs of his eyelids, an image lingers of Dean. Younger. Softer. Cleaner. He’s got a smile on his lips and affection in his voice, and he holds Sam’s hand like nothing in the world can stop them. Like no matter what gets in their way, as long as they stay together, they’ll be able to face anything and come out on top.

He takes a harsh breath and rubs at his face once more. His big brother is counting on him. There’s not a second to lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	13. Two-Hundred Eighty-Six: Fantasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s okay,” Dean’s whispering, and Sam no longer cares whether or not this is real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another little s14 thing. Wincest-adjacent.

“It’s okay,” Dean’s whispering, and Sam no longer cares whether or not this is real. Not when his big brother is pressed so close, the two of them alone in some soft, dark place; the sort of place where nothing else is allowed to touch them. Dean’s got his hands cupping the sides of Sam’s neck, and it’s grounding in a way that nothing else ever has been. “I’m here, it’s okay.”

And yeah, it’s probably another fucking dream. Another desperate hallucination brought on by weeks apart; fuelled by fear and isolation. Sam’s starting to think that no matter what he does, he’ll never get his brother back. It’s too easy to sink into the belief that Michael has already killed him.

But here.

Here, he doesn’t need to think about that.

So Sam squeezes his eyes shut and he leans into Dean’s touch, feels the way his brother’s hands- calloused and gentle and so, so familiar- slide up to cradle his jaw, instead; listens to Dean’s whispered assurances and the underlying beat of his heart. In this intimate space, it’s easy to pretend that nothing exists between them; not space or time or an all-powerful archangel, bent on tearing their world apart. Pressing into Dean’s hands, seeking out the affection like a starving man offered his last meal, Sam lets himself forget about everything else, because if he’s lucky enough to be having a dream like this, then fuck if he’s going to put it to waste.

Dean’s lips brush his forehead and Sam thinks he might cry. Thinks he might as well be four years old again, letting his big brother tuck him into bed.

“I’m right here,” Dean says once more, and Sam believes him. God, does he ever. “Always. Okay, Sammy?”

Fuck, how Sam wishes he didn’t have to wake up. Not when every bit of this fever dream is better than the world that waits on the other side of his eyelids.

“You’ll be okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

He clings to the illusion just a little while longer. Just enough to make sure he remembers the sound of Dean’s breathing, slow and quiet. He’ll need something familiar to cling to in the coming weeks, or there’s no telling how he’ll make it through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	14. Two-Hundred Eighty-Seven: Experiment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Michael finally reaches out, Sam Winchester comes to him willingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another s14 thing. Not really any spoilers.

When Michael finally reaches out, Sam Winchester comes to him willingly. He even comes alone, as promised. Straight to an abandoned warehouse at the edge of a city Michael doesn’t care to know the name of; there isn’t another human soul for miles, and that’s good enough for him. He doesn’t intend to be interrupted.

He’s waiting inside when Sam shows up, and of course, human as he is, Sam cuts straight to the point. “Get out of him.”

Michael chuckles. Inside, Dean protests, struggling to call out to his brother. A nuisance. “That’s not why I called you here, Sam. Come. Sit down so we can talk.”

He says it like it’s a friendly suggestion, but when Sam doesn’t immediately comply, Michael yanks him closer with a passing thought. He forces Sam down into the chair and strolls his way over, ignoring the way Sam struggles as he puts on the handcuffs. “Don’t make this hard on yourself. Wouldn’t want to have to hurt you, would I?”

“Go to Hell.” Sam snarls at him, and Michael smiles patiently. Humans. Predictable. “Give me my brother back, or I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Michael doesn’t waste any time wondering about that, because he’s got plans to carry out, and he turns back to a small table he’s set up just for this occasion. A metal tray with a handful of sterile equipment. Syringes. He picks one up as he continues talking. “If you want me to let your brother go on kicking and screaming, then you’ll sit still and do as you’re told. Otherwise, this will be more difficult for all of us, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want that.”

It does the trick. Sam falls silent, and when Michael turns towards him, he’s visibly fuming. A perfect match for Dean’s fury, inside. It’s almost entertaining. “Now. I’ve heard plenty of stories about the things you’ve done, Sam. The things you’re capable of. Dean’s memories are packed full of all kinds of interesting tidbits.” Sam tenses, and Michael hums. “They call you the boy with the demon blood, don’t they?”

Silence. Not that Michael is expecting a denial. “It’s all got me thinking… if you were so powerful with blood you got from a demon whore, then what might you be able to do with something a little more… potent?”

There’s fear on Sam’s face now, and Dean’s throwing every bit of his miniscule strength against the wall that keeps him locked away. Michael ignores him, brushing the pad of his thumb over the needle he holds. “What would happen if we were to give you a dose of… say, the blood of an angel? The most powerful angel to ever walk this Earth?”

Michael slips the needle into Dean’s arm and ignores the way Sam shouts in protest. He draws the blood smoothly and smiles at the shimmer of grace he can see within it. “I’m curious to find out. Aren’t you?”

He doesn’t waste a moment. Before Sam can react, Michael steps forward and plunges the needle into his arm, pressing down the plunger to send the foreign blood into his veins. He makes sure every bit of it gets inside before stepping out of the way again, watching Sam’s face as he struggles once more, trying to break out.

“Let me- let me go!” he demands, and he looks like he’s caught between glaring at Michael and looking down at his own arm. Michael wonders if the glow he can see is apparent to humans, the way it’s starting to spread into Sam’s body. “Fuck you, give Dean back and-”

He stops all at once, and Michael smiles. Watches as Sam makes a low sound, and listens as Dean screams at him. What effects the blood is having, he can’t be sure yet, but then… this is only the very start of their time together.

“We,” he murmurs, turning back to his table and setting down the syringe, “are going to learn so much together.”

This is the start of what he’s sure will be an extremely fascinating experiment. Only time will tell him more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	15. Two-Hundred Eighty-Eight: Sleepy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam thinks he’s pretty close to falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sleepy brothers on a bus back home.

Sam thinks he’s pretty close to falling asleep. His eyelids are drooping, and he struggles to keep them open, leaning against the bus window and watching absently as the world rolls on by. It’s been a long day, and a good one, and he’s more than ready to crawl into bed for the night and let it come to an end.

Beside him, Dean’s huddled close, an arm curled protectively around Sam’s shoulders and his cheek resting on top of Sam’s head. He must be tired, too; he always gets clingy when he’s ready for bed, and the thought of curling up together when they get home becomes more appealing by the minute. They’re not far from the motel now, so it won’t be long. Just a little bit longer before they can drag themselves out of their seats and stagger inside before they let the exhaustion take them.

Dean’s lips find Sam’s temple in a chaste, quiet kiss, and Sam smiles to himself. He likes these tiny moments. The ones where they’re so explicitly in public- there are two-dozen other people on this bus, all minding their own business- but they can still be like this. Where Dean doesn’t have that uneasy look about him that he gets, sometimes, when they’re close. Sam prefers it when his brother isn’t stressed about their relationship.

“You got any homework to do?” Dean asks quietly, and he’s nuzzling in close, and yeah, Sam thinks falling asleep right now wouldn’t be so bad. Instead, he just shakes his head minutely, enough for Dean to notice. “Good. S'time for bed.”

It’s really not late enough to justify that, but Sam doesn’t have a single argument to raise about it. Not when he’s so ready to cuddle up warm and safe under a pile of blankets and take a nap with his brother. Maybe just sleep through the whole night; go for the hard twelve or fifteen hours of rest that might do something to make up for what they usually miss. Anything would be good.

For now, though, they’ve got a few more minutes on the bus, snuggled up close in their private little world. It almost feels like they can be on display without attracting any scrutiny, and it’s a feeling that Sam decides he really, really likes.

He finds Dean’s hand and fits their fingers together, smiling when Dean squeezes. Yeah. This is something he thinks he could get used to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	16. Two-Hundred Eighty-Nine: Captive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s hard to track the passage of time in this place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of Sam and Michael and some experiments with grace.

It’s hard to track the passage of time in this place. Whether it’s Michael’s influence on his mind or something as simple as blackout curtains strung across the windows, for Sam, the days blur together into some meaningless stretch of existence. He could’ve been sitting in this warehouse for days or weeks or months. It’s all the same to him now.

The injections, on the other hand, he’s careful to count. He’s hyper-aware of every single needle that’s slipped into his body; every bit of grace that Michael pumps into his veins. Where he got the idea for this sick experiment, Sam can’t say for sure, but he’s desperate to put it to an end. His waking hours are spent in search of escape, though it’s hard with his jailor watching him so consistently- angels don’t need to rest, after all. It’s worse for the fact that this one in particular happens to be wearing his brother’s skin.

Today, Michael seems content to watch in silence. Sam’s learned that he’s like Lucifer in the way he can’t seem to get enough of his own voice; hours upon hours of monologuing like he’s expecting Sam to congratulate him for all he’s accomplished in this world. Death and destruction, just like before. The silence now is a blessing. Still, he doesn’t like being under such close scrutiny for so long, and struggles not to drop his gaze to the floor. He refuses to show any sign of weakness.

“How do you feel?” Michael, too, must grow tired of the silence. He stands from the seat he’s taken across the room and strides towards Sam, hands in his pockets. Though nothing about his demeanour resembles Dean, it’s impossible for Sam not to search for his brother in the familiar face. He’s in there, somewhere, or so Michael tells him. It’s one of the only reasons Sam has been so docile during his stay. “I can see the effect it’s having on you. The way it’s starting to reshape your soul. It’s fascinating, Sam.”

Sam decides not to believe that. He keeps his mouth firmly shut, and his thoughts entirely to himself. Of course he can feel it; every single injection has sent an alien sensation shooting through his veins, something he only vaguely recognizes from the aftermath of Gadreel. It’s something that extends from the tips of his fingers to the soles of his feet; something that leaves a taste at the back of his tongue and a burning sort of need under his skin. He can’t put a name to it, and he doesn’t want to. He can’t give Michael the satisfaction of knowing that it’s working.

“Surely, you must feel  _something_.” Michael steps closer, and when there’s a bare couple of feet between them, he leans closer. Still keeping himself above Sam- always above Sam, always careful to assert his power during these exchanges- he speaks again, softer. “Dean’s curious, too, you know. He’s dying to know what I’ve done to his precious baby brother.”

And fuck, but Sam can’t help himself. He jerks forward, almost snarls when the chains catch him in place. He hates that all he has of Dean is filtered through something so vile as the archangel possessing his body. “Leave him out of this.”

Michael hasn’t moved an inch, and he chuckles. “How can I? He screams so loudly. Do you want to know what he has to say?”

Sam does, he  _does_ , but not like this. Never like this. “Fuck you.”

Another laugh, and as Michael straightens up- it’s only now that Sam realizes he’s slipped. Somewhere in his anger, the grace has made itself known, threatening to spill from his fingertips in the form of some kind of outburst. His eyes, too- he sees the blue glow, reflected in his brother’s. It’s enough to shock him into silence.

“Good,” Michael hums, and as he turns away, Sam slumps back into his chair, shocked and suddenly exhausted. What’s happening to him? “You’re making progress. That’s very, very good, Sam.”

He leaves Sam as alone as he ever does, putting a thin door between them and not a whole lot else. Sam is left staring at the floor and feeling, acutely, the foreign substance in his veins as it does something to him. Changes him in tiny increments.

And here, he’d so nearly forgotten the feeling of being a monster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	17. Two-Hundred Ninety: Peaceful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite the chilly autumn air, the sun shines warm and bright overhead, bathing the world below in its golden rays as a quiet reminder of summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soft brothers.

Despite the chilly autumn air, the sun shines warm and bright overhead, bathing the world below in its golden rays as a quiet reminder of summer. It matches the vibrant blooming of the trees; all of them exploding in oranges and reds and yellows, eager to put on a last good show before winter strips them bare. It’s a beautiful time of year, and Sam finds himself getting caught up in it for more reasons than one.

It’s the sunlight, mostly. At this time of day, as the sun sinks towards the horizon, it becomes just that much sweeter in a final embrace before the moon comes out. And it’s not just the leaves, exactly. Not today.

Today, what draws his attention is everything this scenery brings out in his big brother.

Across Dean’s cheeks and through his hair, the sunlight goes rose-gold, a distinct sort of warmth that has Sam’s breath catching in his throat. It’s just a couple beers shared over the last hour of daylight, but god, it’s overwhelming. Dean’s wearing a smile on his face and a cozy shirt and an air like nothing in the world could disturb him from his sense of peace, and Sam can’t help but stare. Can’t help but be entirely, hopelessly in love.

He’s not subtle about it, either.

“Take a picture,” Dean teases him softly. He doesn’t look up, eyes fixed on some arbitrary point out in the distance. The trees; maybe he thinks they’re pretty, too, not that he’d ever say so out loud. That’s one of those things that Dean keeps quiet and secret and close to himself; even Sam is only afforded the rarest of glimpses. “It’ll last longer.”

Sam’s cheeks warm, but he doesn’t stop. Chooses, instead, to shuffle a little closer until he can rest his cheek on Dean’s shoulder, marvelling for the fact that he’s allowed to do so. “Don’t tempt me.”

They fall into a peaceful silence, and Sam closes his eyes to the beauty of the world. Being close to Dean like this, listening to the simple reassurances of his breathing and heartbeat- this, he thinks, is more than enough for right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	18. Two-Hundred Ninety-One: Too Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam doesn’t believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place right after 14.02. Spoilers for the episode.

Sam doesn’t believe it. Not yet. Maybe he never will; not with so many questions left unanswered. Even with his brother in front of him again- here, flesh and blood, though the hairstyle and wardrobe are so wildly unfamiliar on Dean’s body- Sam’s left feeling uneasy. Like there’s something unfinished here. A puzzle piece that doesn’t fit.

Dean, for his part, seems shaken up. Not that Sam can blame him; he barely even reacts when they reach the car, and he doesn’t ask to drive. Instead, he sits shotgun, leaving Bobby and Mary to the back seat while Sam tries not to be too obvious about his staring.

He doesn’t believe that Michael left. It doesn’t make any sense; from a strictly tactical standpoint, Michael is too smart to abandon his true vessel. It won’t be easy to get Dean to say yes again, and no other human on the planet will give him access to the same amount of power, so why would he just… leave?

The only sensible conclusion that presents itself is one that chills Sam straight to his core, making him reluctant to even look at his brother in the moment.

Logically- the thing that makes most sense; the only thing that makes sense- Michael wouldn’t have left at all.

Sam grips the steering wheel tighter. What he remembers most about his experience with Gadreel is how distinctly he  _doesn’t_ remember it- there was an angel living inside him for weeks, and he hadn’t the slightest idea about any of it. Even now, he doesn’t know for sure how many times Gadreel slipped into his consciousness; to talk to Dean or God knows what else. And Gadreel- he was just an outcast. Just another angel, thrown into a desperate situation and doing his best to adapt.

Michael- Michael is a whole different beast.

A million eggshells suddenly lie at Sam’s feet, and he feels like a single breath out of place will be enough to shatter them. Like if he looks at Dean too long, then an archangel will burst from the depths of his mind and wreck havoc upon everything they love.

Maybe it’s a paranoid delusion. Maybe he’s in shock. Maybe it’s too dangerous to think he’s anything but right.

Sam nearly jumps out of his skin when Dean reaches out to turn on the radio, desperate to calm his racing heart and not prompt any questions. He could be overreacting- it’s been a long few weeks- but…

If there’s even the slightest chance that he’s right about this, then he needs to do everything in his power to keep it quiet. Dean’s life- and the lives of every other person at home, all the refugees living under their roof, all the family they’re working so hard to protect- could be snuffed out like nothing.

He hasn’t felt this lonely in a long, long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	19. Two-Hundred Ninety-Two: Insane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s insane. He’s absolutely fucking insane, and Sam’s going to be killed because of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of the angel blood AU thing with AU!Michael and Sam and whatnot.

He’s insane. He’s absolutely fucking insane, and Sam’s going to be killed because of it.

Dean feels like he’s being torn apart, watching as Michael uses his hands to pump Sam full of more grace-tinted blood. Dean’s lost track of how long this has been going on- time is strange, when he’s not in control of his own body, and Michael shuts him out sometimes, too- but it doesn’t matter. It could’ve been five minutes, and that would still be too long for Sam to be tied to a chair and experimented on by some freak of an archangel.

He’s been fighting since the get-go, struggling against Michael’s hold, but for the most part, it feels like his strength has been sapped from him. Michael acknowledges him, on occasion, but mostly for offhanded mockery- he’s damn smug about the fact that he’s in control, especially since capturing Sam, and Dean- Dean’s desperate. Especially now, as Michael’s plans for today’s session slowly come to light.

“You should be strong enough now.” He says this with Dean’s mouth as he starts to undo Sam’s restraints. Sam’s visibly tense, and doesn’t seem to trust it for a second. Dean’s confused and angry. “To protect yourself, hm? It’ll be fascinating to see what you can do.”

Once Sam’s been freed from his binds, Michael steps back, casual as he walks towards the door. Dean doesn’t know what’s waiting behind it- Michael’s kept this a surprise for him, too- but when he pulls it open, and there’s a young woman waiting, smiling slow and easy-

Her fangs come out as Michael beckons her forward. “He’s all yours. Good look, Mira.”

Vampire. She doesn’t waste any time in going for Sam, and Dean’s forced to watch in horror as his brother scrambles to respond. Sam is completely unarmed, exhausted, unfed- he doesn’t stand a chance. What the hell is Michael trying to do?“

Michael, for his part, offers no response. He simply leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest as he watches the fight that starts. Dean tries to force him to do something, to interfere- what good are all these experiments if he’s just going to kill his subject, anyways?- but Michael is unaffected.

Despite everything, Sam is holding his ground. He’s a damn good fighter, everything else aside, and despite himself, Dean feels a small bit of pride as he watches. Sam keeps distance between himself and the vampire, and when she gets close, he uses his size to his advantage, keeping her from getting her teeth into him. The way his eyes are darting around, he must be searching for something to use; anything with an edge sharp enough to kill her. Dean’s doing the same and comes up short; the room is bare but for the chair Sam’s just risen from, and it’s hardly got any edges on it at all.

"You know,” Michael says, sounding absent and unconcerned, “there’s more than one way to kill a vampire.”

Abruptly, Dean’s hit with visions of Michael’s other experiments- the burned-out eyes, the pile of corpses. It doesn’t make sense when Sam’s the one fighting, unless-

Does he really think that those injections have given Sam the power to smite people?

Insane. He’s insane, and Sam’s going to suffer for it.

Sam’s noticed the chair, too. For a lack of any other options, he’s grabbed it, using it now to keep the vampire away. He smashes it against the floor hard enough to splinter the wood, and it leaves him with a messy stake- good enough for Bram Stoker, maybe, but not for real life. Not for protecting himself against this thing.

“It’ll be too bad if you die here,” Michael hums. “A disappointment, really. I’m sure Dean will be upset, too. Won’t you?”

The last bit is directed inwards, and Dean throws himself against the wall, desperate to get through. To do something; to save his brother the way every part of his mind is begging him to. Michael’s control almost falters, enough to twitch forward towards the fight, but-

Her neck. Sam’s jammed the thing right into her neck. It won’t kill her, but it’ll definitely slow her down, and he repeats the motion more than once. There’s blood. She’s screaming. Sam’s getting desperate, and Dean thinks, for a moment, he catches a faint sort of glow, a hint of blue-

It takes four or five tries, but Sam’s brutal, messy solution proves to be enough. The vampire drops to the ground with her head nearly separated from her body, and the makeshift stake joins her, gory and blunt. Sam’s panting hard for breath, unsteady on his feet, and Dean wants to cry. Wants to go to him, more than anything.

Michael hums again, and he straightens himself up off the wall. If Dean’s resistance has bothered him, he makes no indication. “Disappointing,” he says simply, and then turns to leave the room without another word.

Dean screams and shouts and fights with all he has, but it’s no use. Sam is, once again, left alone. There’s no telling what Michael will force on him next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	20. Two-Hundred Ninety-Three: Sleeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a relief to finally close the bedroom door on the rest of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Michael becomes a sleeper agent and Sam finds out the hard way.

It’s a relief to finally close the bedroom door on the rest of the world. Sam squeezes his eyes shut as soon as he’s got this moment to himself, hoping for a chance to decompress and process everything that’s happened. Following Michael’s footprints, the ambush by the amped-up werewolves, having Dean suddenly thrust back upon them with no explanation-

He swallows hard, rubbing at his face before he makes for the drawers. He’s due for a good night’s rest. Though he’s still trying to convince himself that this is a good thing- that he should be thankful for Dean’s safe return- he can’t shake the lingering unease. The part of him that’s convinced that it’s too good to be true.

Sam gets himself into something comfortable and crawls into bed, desperate for a moment of escape. Maybe if he falls into a deep enough sleep, his subconscious will convince him that everything’s alright; no Michael to worry about, no apocalypse on the horizon, none of it. Nothing but him and his brother and a well-deserved moment of peace.

Of course things couldn’t be that easy.

Just as Sam’s closed his eyes, they’re startled open again by someone knocking on the door. A small part of him wants to ignore it, to just cover his head with his pillow and go to sleep, but since taking on so many hunters and extra responsibilities, he can’t afford to put himself first. So he sits up, and he rubs at his eyes, and he breathes out hard. “Yeah, it’s open.”

For some reason, it hasn’t occurred to him that it could be his brother behind the door.

Dean lets himself in, but he looks tentative. Uncertain, the way he has been since he appeared in the first place. Sam immediately feels guilty for wanting to shut him out. “Dean, hey. Everything alright?”

Dean’s not coming any closer, stuck by the door like he doesn’t feel welcome here. “I, uh- I mean. Yeah, I guess. I just-” He pauses, glances behind him. It must be hard for him to adjust, suddenly having so many people here. “I don’t know. It’s nothing.”

Here they are again. Forever tip-toeing around the hard subjects. Sam tries to push. “You wanna talk?”

“Not really.” Dean breathes out hard, then speaks all at once. “Is- is it okay if I stay here? For tonight? I just-”

He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t need to. Sam knows what it’s like to feel wrong in his own skin, to not trust himself to be alone. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

Dean visibly sags with relief, and he nods, closing the door behind him before approaching the bed. He still hesitates, even as Sam makes room for him, but once he crawls in, it feels a little bit better. Like old times, before things got messy.

“Thanks,” Dean says quietly. He’s still getting settled, and Sam takes the liberty to move closer. Though he doesn’t usually say so out loud, Sam knows how his brother responds to tactility in these sorts of moments. He pulls Dean close for the sharing of heartbeats, and he closes his eyes. “I, uh- I missed you. I’m sorry.”

Sam’s about to respond- to tell him he doesn’t need to be, to pull him closer, to press a kiss to his forehead- except things move very fast and before he can so much as breathe, Dean’s on top of him, a hand at his throat and pressing down hard, too hard, hard enough that Sam fights back on instinct-

“You already knew, didn’t you?”

It’s not Dean.

Michael’s eyes glow blue as he pins Sam to the bed, dangerous and calculating. Everything Dean hadn’t been, seconds ago, and Sam’s lost, he’s struggling, he’s scared for his brother and for all the innocent people in the bunker-

“You’re too smart for your own good.” Michael chuckles. “It’s too bad the same can’t be said for your dear brother.”

Sam can’t breathe, but he still forces the words out. “What- what did you do to him? If you hurt him, I swear to God-”

Michael presses down harder, and Sam stops talking. “Not yet,” he murmurs. “But that’s… a strictly conditional arrangement. If you breathe a word of this to any of your friends-” He leans in closer, almost nose-to-nose, a twisted parody of the intimate moments Sam’s shared with his brother- “or if you try to alert Dean? I can promise you, that’ll change in a heartbeat.”

Michael doesn’t wait for a response. His eyes glow once more, and then- then it’s Dean. It’s Dean, eyes slipping shut and slumping against Sam’s chest like the energy’s been sapped out of him completely, apparently unconscious, and Sam…

Sam still feels like he can’t breathe, and he’s trembling. He’s got Dean in his arms, a ticking time bomb, and he’s completely, entirely alone.

He doesn’t think he’ll be getting much sleep tonight, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	21. Two-Hundred Ninety-Four: Curse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean’s doing his best to take this seriously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A silly genderbend Wincest thing.

Dean’s doing his best to take this seriously. He really, honestly, truly is.

It’s just. Well.

“Dude, can you focus for five minutes?”

It’s hard to do much of anything but stare, now that  _Sam’s_  looking a whole lot more like a  _Samantha_.

Sam shoots him another half-hearted glare over the book he’s holding, settled into one of the library’s chairs and clearly intent on finding a cure for… whatever curse they’ve gone and stumbled into. Maybe it’s Dean’s fault for poking around in the bunker’s unlabelled artifacts, and maybe it’s Sam’s fault for not keeping a closer eye on him, but whatever the case-

“It won’t kill us to enjoy this for a little while.” Yeah, it’s a little weird to be in a chick’s body, but  _damn_ , Dean’s already found the bright side. Besides being a few inches shorter than he’s used to, and the disconcerting feeling of needing to adjust to a new centre of gravity, he’s found that he’s immensely attached to the new parts of his body. And Sam’s, for that matter. “C'mon, lighten up a bit.”

Sam doesn’t look terribly impressed by that. It’s harder to take him seriously when he’s this cute; his hair’s somehow gotten even longer, and his face is softer, too. Pretty. Mostly, it makes Dean want to grab him and drag him off to the nearest bedroom so they can properly test out their new equipment. “Dean, this is serious. We don’t know if it’s going to be permanent, or- or if it’s the start of a malicious curse. Do you even care?”

Dean huffs, offended. He walks right over to his brother-turned-sister and crosses his arms, quietly pleased by the way it frames his newly-developed breasts. He’s not too modest to think that he makes a drop-dead gorgeous woman. “Of course I care. But it’s not gonna do anybody any good if you give yourself an aneurysm freaking out about this. And besides.” He pauses to gesture between them. “You have to admit that this could be fun.”

Under Dean’s intense stare, Sam finally cracks, unable to hide his smile as he glances away. “Maybe,” he says. “But we’re not staying like this forever.”

“‘Course not.” Dean waves it off. “But we can take advantage of it while we’ve got it. Right?”

A sigh, and Sam nods. He sets down the book and doesn’t protest when Dean climbs into his lap. “Just a little while,” he says firmly.

“Sure, yeah,” Dean says, but he’s already busy leaning in and pressing his lips to Sam’s throat. His skin is softer and Dean thinks he might die by the time he’s finished exploring his brother’s body like this. “Whatever you say.”

By the time Sam’s hands are on his hips, slim fingers sneaking past the hem of his jeans, Dean thinks it probably wouldn’t be so bad to have a few days. Maybe a week. He already thinks that he could happily get used to this arrangement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	22. Two-Hundred Ninety-Five: Chilly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This trailer has been Jensen’s home away from home for years now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A cozy J2 thing.

This trailer has been Jensen’s home away from home for years now. He knows its every nook and cranny, it’s set up exactly the way he likes it to be, and in the hours he gets to spend on set between stretches of filming, he’s happy to settle down here, curled up on his couch and watching nothing in particular on the TV in front of him.

At this time of year, specifically, as Vancouver creeps towards the inevitable chill of its winter season, Jensen tries to do his tiny part for the environment and not overuse the heater. He always feels a little embarrassed when he listens to it chugging away, so he keeps the temperature as low as he can stand it for the time he spends inside. Of course, it means he needs to compensate somehow to keep himself cozy, and- well, this might just be his favourite part of the season.

It’s sort of like a ritual now. Once he makes it back to his trailer, he’ll shuck Dean’s boots and jeans in favour of pulling on a pair of sweats and the coziest socks he has on hand. He finds himself an oversized sweater- usually one that’s Jared’s left behind; whether he does that on purpose or not is something Jensen has yet to discern- and pulls that on, too, before plopping down on the couch and pulling a heavy blanket over himself, finishing off his little cocoon.

Of course, it’s even better when he gets a little company.

Jared always seems to be immune to the cold, the bastard. Maybe he’s just adapted to Canada’s climate better than Jensen has. Whatever the case, when he invites himself inside, he at least has the sense to shut the door behind him as quickly as he can.

“You look cozy.” He always says the same kind of thing, and he’s always smiling, and Jensen always rolls his eyes. “Room for one more?”

So Jensen shuffles over on the couch and lets Jared join him, even going so far as to readjust his blanket to let him share. “Do you even experience cold? Like- I don’t think I’ve ever seen you shiver.”

Jared takes the liberty to snuggle in close, tucking Jensen under his arm and providing all kinds of extra body heat that Jensen’s been craving. Yeah, this is good. “I think you’re just too fragile for this weather.” He’s teasing, turning to nose through Jensen’s hair. “Maybe you should just stay inside all the time. Or maybe Dean needs to start wearing a parka.”

Jensen huffs, but settles for snuggling a bit closer. He could make an effort to turn on the TV, but the remote is just out of reach and he doesn’t quite have the ambition to move. “Maybe you just… shut up.”

Jared laughs at him, and the two of them quiet down, happy to spend this time together while they’ve got it. Between the cold air, the cozy blanket nest, and Jared’s proximity, Jensen lets his eyes slip shut and thinks that a nap would be really, really good right about now.

Hell. Nobody’s gonna stop him, and it’s too easy to drift off. A few moments of rest won’t hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	23. Two-Hundred Ninety-Six: Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jensen doesn’t know what to think by the time they get home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small return to the vampire!Jared AU. :>

Jensen doesn’t know what to think by the time they get home. His head is spinning as he tries to process everything Jared has laid before him on their way home. Hunters- he’s never spared a thought towards the fact that there might be people out there who want to kill vampires; naive of him, surely. But now it’s raised a million other questions- perhaps most pressingly, what they’re supposed to do now that Jared’s got three bodies on his hands.

Back at home, it becomes a little easier to breathe. Jared steers him inside and Jensen forces his mouth to work. “What- what are we going to- is he going to come after you?”

“I don’t know.” Jared locks the door behind them, and then he’s back to Jensen’s side, always attentive. More so now, maybe, with this new threat at hand. “He doesn’t know anything yet. We should be fine for now, and if we have to, we can leave.”

Jensen thinks back to the man at the café and tries to imagine him coming to their home. Would he knock on the door? Would he break a window? Jensen realizes, abruptly, that he doesn’t even know how one would go about killing a vampire. He knows for sure that Jared isn’t bothered by garlic, so he doesn’t know what to think. “Run away?”

Silence. They move to the living room, and Jensen feels a little better once they’re curled up on the couch, once he’s tucked into Jared’s side. This is where he feels the most safe. “I don’t want to kill him. Where there’s one hunter, there are always more, and…” He trails off. Pauses for a moment. “I’ve had enough of dealing with them in my lifetime.”

More stories that Jensen has yet to hear. He could probably spend the rest of his life listening to Jared explain everything that’s come before. “What if you have no choice?”

Jared breathes out quietly, then turns to press his face into Jensen’s neck. Jensen closes his eyes and lets himself feel, familiar with this position. He thinks that if Jared sunk his teeth in, they’d both feel a little more grounded.

“I’ll keep you safe,” Jared says, quiet. It’s all he says for a long moment. “I won’t let anybody hurt you.”

They don’t talk anymore after that, and Jensen’s left with most of his questions unanswered. He’s never seen Jared shaken in quite this way, though, so he stays quiet, content for the moment to be half of this exchange of comfort.

The hunter lingers in his thoughts. The way he’d looked at them; the smile he wore for Jensen. The fake business card that sits heavy in his pocket.

He doesn’t want to think about where this is going to end. There isn’t one single option that he likes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	24. Two-Hundred Ninety-Seven: Paranoid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam’s getting twitchy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of the thing where Michael is still inside Dean and Sam is the only one who knows.

Sam’s getting twitchy. It’s impossible not to; he can’t sleep knowing what’s living inside his brother, and every hour he spends awake is another hour to drive his paranoia to new heights. Every corner he turns, he expects somebody to jump him. Every time he looks at Dean- oblivious, tired, tentatively hopeful Dean- he can only see Michael inside of him. Only see that moment in the bedroom, the two of them curled tight until Michael’s hand closed around his throat. It’s all wearing on Sam, and he’s never felt so alone. Never felt further out of place in his own home.

It isn’t long before other people start to notice.

“Sam?” It’s Mom. She’s caught him alone in the kitchen, and Sam startles badly when her hand finds his elbow. “Sorry- I wanted to talk. If you have a second?”

So Sam takes a breath and nods. Despite everything, he still had his responsibilities. He still has to maintain an image, lest Michael take it out on everybody else in the bunker. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. What’s up?”

She looks uncertain, glancing towards the doorway. She’s nervous about being overheard. Still, she continues. “It’s about Dean. Since he’s been back, he just seems…”

She trails off. Sam can feel his heart beating too fast, heavy in his chest. “He seems different. Off. Has he said anything to you? Or-?”

“No. I mean- yeah. Yeah.” Sam’s tripping over himself to cover, because- because she can’t know. If she notices something wrong with Dean, it’ll only be a matter of time before others pick up on it, too, and then Michael will- Michael will- “We talked. He’s okay, he’s just… shaken, you know?” He smiles and hopes it’s more convincing than it feels. “It, uh- that kind of stuff takes a while to get over, you know?”

Mom frowns, hesitating before she reaches out to touch him again. Gentler this time. “Right. Of course. I just- I’m worried about him.”

“So am I.” That, at least, is the truth. “He just needs some time. That’s all.”

Another few seconds pass, and Sam counts his heartbeats. Prays that she won’t push any farther. He doesn’t breath until she speaks again. “Alright. Just… let me know if I can do anything. Okay?”

Sam smiles, just a little bit, and nods. His relief must be palpable. “Yeah. Of course, Mom.”

She leaves him alone after that, and Sam’s smile hits the floor. He’s reminded once more of just how delicate a balance he’s trying to maintain, and that if anything slips- if he loses it even for a second-

There are too many people here to put at risk, and Sam will not allow himself to fail. He can’t see one single way out of this that doesn’t end with somebody important getting hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	25. Two-Hundred Ninety-Eight: Chief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe it’s the talk in the car that gets Dean all riled up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _You ain't been had 'til you've been had by the Chief._
> 
> aka, a little bit of dirty Wincest after they get home.

Maybe it’s the talk in the car that gets Dean all riled up. There’s something about him, when he opens up and spreads his soul at Sam’s feet; something raw and vulnerable and exposed. Something that demands action, that demands a response. Some kind of acknowledgement, at a primal level. Dean’s hurting, and even though the talking is good- it hurts him even worse, Sam knows. There’s not a lot he can do for his brother in this state, but-

But there is one thing.

They fumble through checking in with Jack and Castiel, and Dean makes no secret that he would rather be anywhere else. Sam smiles like an apology and tries not to wince when one of the other hunters calls him “Chief” again on his way by. He’s growing into being a leader, but it’s still a little-

“Chief,” Dean mumbles once they’re out of earshot, and Sam looks at him, eyebrows raised. It’s a shadow of the teasing from earlier, but still promising. “C'mon, you have to admit, it’s a little- it’s a little-”

He doesn’t finish. Sam takes what he can get, and for now, that’s a grip on his brother’s wrist and Dean’s compliance as Sam steers the way towards his bedroom. After letting it sit for weeks, empty and quiet, he’s eager to see it filled again; to watch Dean flood it with life and turn it back into a home. Back into something safe.

When they slip inside and Sam nudges the door shut behind him, he figures this is as good a start as any.

Dean’s not shy about closing the distance between them, and they’re kissing like it’s breathing, like the secret to living another heartbeat hides somewhere in the space between their lips. Sam fists a hand in his brother’s jacket because he can already feel how this is going to go; recognizes that this is what Dean needs right now. Something rough and desperate and real.

Dean’s the first to pull away, gasping for breath, and he’s already dragging Sam back towards the bed, busying himself with the buttons on Sam’s shirt. “Fuckin’- stupid beard,” he mumbles to himself, and Sam snorts. “What am I gonna tell people when they ask how I got rug-burn all over my face?”

Sam distracts him by kissing him again, and by the sounds he’s making, Dean doesn’t mind the beard all that much. He’s still fumbling to get the both of them undressed, and Sam does his part, kicking off his boots as he backs Dean onto the bed. There’s a flurry of motion as they separate long enough to strip naked, and then they’re together again, Sam climbing on top and finding Dean’s lips again, hungry for them after so long apart. Hungry for every single part of his big brother.

There’s lube in the drawer- there always is- and they reach for it at the same time until Dean smacks Sam’s hand away. “I got it,  _Chief_ ,” and it sounds like mockery, but it stirs something in Sam’s gut, something he doesn’t know how to label. And maybe it shows on his face, too, because Dean grins, wild and reckless, grabbing the bottle without needing to look. “You like that, huh?”

“Shut up.” Because okay, maybe he does when it’s coming out of Dean’s pretty mouth, but he won’t admit it out loud. “You wanna do this, or not?”

Based on the hand that finds its way between them and curls around Sam’s cock- already well on its way to full hardness- Dean absolutely does.

Things always get messy at this part, when they’re both desperate and hungry and nothing seems to move fast enough. There’s Sam, slicking up his fingers to ease his brother into this as much as they’ve got patience for, and there’s Dean, apparently intent on stroking Sam off before they can get anywhere at all, and there’s the too-much-space that exists between them, that  _always_ exists between them; every inch, every  _molecule_ of separation that makes it impossible to be whole, that keeps them eternally apart. It’s too much, and it’s not enough, and Sam can’t breathe for all the emotion in the air; the unspoken sense of everything that threatens to choke him. Dean makes the prettiest sounds on his fingers, all soft and warm on the inside, and Sam struggles to focus against the touch he hasn’t felt in weeks, and it’s just-

“C'mon,” Dean says, all flushed and breathless, and Sam’s two fingers deep and he should probably work at this a little longer. “Just- just do it. Do it, Chief.”

Fuck, that should sound stupid, and maybe it will, in hindsight, and maybe Dean’s still trying to make fun of him, but right now- right now, it’s enough to convince Sam that Dean is as ready as he needs to be. He tugs his fingers free and he sits up long enough to breathe, and Dean takes the liberty of grabbing the lube the second time.

“Here we go,” Dean breathes out, and Sam bites his lip on a groan as Dean gets him ready, generous with the lube. It’s cold, barely touched by the warmth of Dean’s skin. “S'been too long.”

Yeah. That much is true.

Dean doesn’t lay back again as Sam presses in close, his arms coming up to loop around Sam’s neck while they get all lined up. It’s a familiar position, and they breathe together as Sam starts to press inside. Tight-hot- _good_ and Dean’s breath hitches into something that’s almost a moan, just this side of needy. Just the kind of thing that has Sam pushing in a little deeper, seeing what else he can wring out of his brother in this moment together.

“Sammy,” Dean whispers once Sam’s buried to the hilt, and Sam can’t talk for a few seconds, overwhelmed. Dean’s hands are in his hair and the musk of their mingled sweat is filling his nose and everything,  _everything_  is Dean. “God, Sammy.”

They don’t talk much, outside gasps and moans and monosyllables. They’ve got their own language here, one that translates into pure physical contact; the way that Dean scrabbles for an anchor and leaves scratches down Sam’s back, or how Sam’s fingertips paint bruises into Dean’s hips like they’ll take the place of the scar on his arm. Every little touch and movement as they rock together speaks a hundred thousand words, building up into something loud and demanding and impossibly intimate. Sam chases it like it’s the thing that’ll keep them in this place forever, warm and safe and as close to wholeness as they’re ever going to get.

Their lips meet in a sloppy approximation of a kiss, and Sam finds Dean’s cock as their tongues meet. It’s primal and urgent, and it’s not going to last much longer; the slap of flesh against flesh is coming to its climax. Dean might say something into his mouth, but it’s unintelligible, and all Sam can think about is bringing them both to that finish line. He’s got something hot and familiar building in his groin, and he can feel the way that Dean goes tight around him- hears the small, hungry noises his brother is making. They push him harder, and Sam speeds up, losing all sense of rhythm as he buries himself deep inside of Dean, hand moving furiously to match the pace.

Dean cries out when he comes, arching up hard into Sam’s body and spilling hot between them. Sam doesn’t slow down; he’s right behind his brother and his orgasm comes fast and hard as he works Dean through the waves of pleasure. Everything gets blurry, and through it all, Sam just stays pressed in close, their lips barely touching as they both gasp for breath and come down from the high.

Eventually, he needs to pull out. It’s a slow movement, and a reluctant one, and when he’s free, he flops down at Dean’s side, hazy and breathless and trying to regain his sense of the world. Dean’s no better off; his eyes are on the ceiling and it’s quiet between them for a long few minutes. Recovery is usually like this; they each want a moment to themselves, but neither can bear to separate from his other half. Staying close is imperative.

“I missed you.” Dean breaks the silence, and he’s quiet. So, so quiet. Sam keeps his eyes carefully elsewhere because he doesn’t want to ruin this. “A lot.”

Once he’s sure Dean’s finished, Sam exhales and turns towards his brother. Reaches out with both hands and hauls Dean in close, because he’ll be damned if he doesn’t offer every modicum of comfort he can. Dean doesn’t resist, and they’re together again, a pair of heartbeats separated by cages of bone. Together and apart. “I missed you, too.”

They fall asleep like that without saying another word. They’ve never had much of a need for those, anyways- not when the closeness of their bodies holds so much more meaning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	26. Two-Hundred Ninety-Nine: Shave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes a couple days to find a moment alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam finally shaves. Dean decides to help.

It takes a couple days to find a moment alone. Dean’s mostly occupied with getting settled back into the bunker and adjusting to its new hustle-and-bustle atmosphere; he loves seeing Sam like this, fitting perfectly into a role of leadership and managing to be embarrassed through it all. It’s perfectly Sam, and though Dean might give him a teasing nudge every time one of the other hunters calls him Chief… he can’t deny how proud he is. Sam’s come a long way from that cute little toddler that Dean remembers.

They manage it eventually, the two of them back in Dean’s room for the night after following a dead lead on Michael. They’re both tired, and Dean’s rubbing at his eyes as he gets himself ready for bed, one eye on his brother once Sam’s got his soft pyjama pants on. He already looks warm and sleep-mussed from behind, and it draws Dean to him, moving in close and wrapping his arms around Sam’s waist for the comfort of bare skin, pressed together. Resting his cheek between Sam’s shoulders, Dean closes his eyes, just breathing it all in for a moment.

Sam’s hands come to rest on Dean’s arms, gentle. “Hey,” he says quietly. “You ready for bed?”

Dean hums, not wanting to move quite yet. “Yeah.”

“Alright.” Sam squeezes Dean’s arm. “I just need a few minutes, okay? M’gonna shave.”

That’s not what Dean’s expecting to hear. He straightens up, but doesn’t let go, peeking over Sam’s shoulder. “Wait, seriously? You mean-?”

“I’m getting rid of the beard.” He can heat the smile in Sam’s voice, and catches the lift of his cheek, the hint of a dimple. “Figured I should get cleaned up.”

Dean almost laughs, but then he’s worried for a moment. “Is it ‘cause I said something? Because- I mean, it’s scratchy, and it’s weird, but if you like it-”

“Dean.” Softer, and Sam turns around in Dean’s arms until they’re face-to-face. “I meant what I said before. I was just… busy.” He lifts a hand, rubbing at his bearded cheek, then laughs at himself. “Wasn’t so bad while it lasted, though, right?”

Dean smiles, stretching up on his toes to give his brother a chaste kiss. Maybe he’ll miss the sensation a little bit, the gentle scratching when he gets close. And admittedly, there’s something nice about the way Sam looks with it; something cozy and familiar. “It’s not the worst thing in the world.”

Sam offers him another kiss, and they linger like that for a few seconds. Quiet and warm and close. “I’ll be done in a few minutes,” he murmurs into the space between their lips. “You don’t have to wait up.”

Just as Sam starts to pull away, though, Dean reaches out and catches him wrist. He’s got an impulse he can’t ignore, and doesn’t resist as the words come to his lips. “Wait. I can help.” Steps closer, just a little bit, and lifts his free hand to cup Sam’s cheek. “Let me?”

Sam’s already got a smile on his face, and he huffs out a breath. “Yeah. Alright, c’mon.”

Together, they go to the bathroom off of Dean’s bedroom, Sam flipping on the light as they come in and going looking for the razor. Dean finds the shaving cream and closes the door behind them; there’s something private about this moment that makes him want to contain it as best he’s able.

“How do you want me?” Sam asks once they’re organized, and it’s a question Dean’s heard from his brother in probably a million different capacities. Usually not this one. “Sitting, or-?”

“Yeah.” Dean pats the counter, smiles. “Hop on up, Chief. Get comfy.”

Sam does as he’s told, sitting on the counter with his legs hanging down over the edge. He’s almost too big for it, not at all like when they did this as kids, but it’s still a picture that Dean decides he likes. There’s something innocent about it, and Dean likes seeing that in his brother. He likes it a lot.

“So,” Dean says, picking up the trimmer to start. Plugged into the wall, it hums to life, and he nudges his way between Sam’s knees to get as close as he needs to be. “Been a while, huh?”

Sam smiles, but stays still so Dean can start trimming away. He’s slow and meticulous, moving in smooth strokes as little bits of hair drift down between them. He’s quiet when he does speak, barely a murmur. “Guess so. You, uh- you used to do this for me all the time. Remember?”

“Of course.” It’s impossible to forget. How many times they’ve sat exactly like this, close and quiet while Dean taught his brother how to shave. Did it for him, mostly, slow and careful to make sure he didn’t leave any nicks behind. “You weren’t any good at it.”

Sam almost laughs, but holds himself still. He knows better than to move too much while Dean’s working. “You didn’t want to teach me. Kept telling me I was too young.”

“You were.” Dean rolls his eyes, focuses on his work. “Too young for facial hair, too, so I had to fix it for you.”

“I know.”

They fall quiet while Dean works. He keeps his eyes on Sam’s face, working to make sure everything is even. Slowly, Sam starts to look a little more like how Dean remembers him. Not quite clean-shaven, but getting there. He turns off the trimmer and sets it aside, pausing for a moment. “S’been a while since you were clean-shaven, huh?”

Sam smiles at him, and Dean leans in for a kiss. It feels better now, and he hums as Sam speaks. “Guess so. Yeah.”

It’s all the answer Dean needs. The shaving clean comes next, and the straight razor. Sam watches him, and Dean’s gentle, spreading the cream over his brother’s stubbled cheeks before picking up the blade. This is always the part that requires the most trust.

Dean’s hand rests on the side of Sam’s neck while he works, feeling the flutter of Sam’s heartbeat under his palm. He drags the blade over Sam’s cheek, slow and careful as he carves the cream off in wide strokes. He can feel Sam’s breath on his face, and this moment feels infinite in its intimacy. In the delicacy of Sam’s skin under his touch; the trust implicit in how he sits so still.

Dean takes longer than he needs to, working away at Sam’s face until every hair is carefully sliced away. He’s left soft-skinned and clean, and after Dean picks up a cloth to tidy him up a bit, he can’t help but touch. Skims his fingertips over Sam’s cheek and revels at how it feels until Sam catches his hand, holding on tight.

“All done?” Sam asks, quiet and soft.

“Yeah.” Dean smiles, curling their fingers together. “You clean up pretty good.”

Sam grins at him and slides off the counter, wrapping his arms around Dean and holding him close. “C’mon. Time for bed.”

They return to the bedroom together and crawl under the covers. Dean can’t help but keep touching Sam’s face, peppering it with tiny kisses until he’s too tired to keep his eyes open. Sam laughs, but doesn’t stop him, nuzzling in close once Dean settles down for bed.

“You have to let me do you next,” Sam murmurs, and Dean grunts, half-asleep. “You’d look nice.”

Dean falls asleep with that in mind, wondering how it would feel to flip their roles that way. In the haze of exhaustion and the void on the edge of sleep, he thinks it might be kind of nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	27. Three-Hundred: Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is gone and Dean is alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little AU where Michael and Lucifer stake their claims earlier and start sowing the seeds of influence.

Sam is gone and Dean is alone. The bus is far out of sight, Dad isn’t answering the phone, and there’s thing thing trying to claw its way up out of his chest, something that hurts too deep to name-

And there’s the voice, too. There’s always the voice.

_He betrayed you. Betrayed your family._

It’s been there for as long as Dean can remember, whispering things. Giving him advice, keeping him company in these quiet moments, telling him that- that maybe this isn’t so bad, after all.

_If he loved you, he wouldn’t have gone anywhere. If he was loyal, he would have stayed._

Dean exhales and tightens his grip on the steering wheel. Even when it’s poison in his ears, it’s hard to ignore. Especially when it’s dangerously close to his own thoughts; an echo of the hurt and betrayal he feels now that Sam has left him alone.

_Not completely alone, Dean. You’ll always have me._

It’s not something he can bear to think about right now. Dean shakes his head and starts the car and tries to think about anything else.

In the back of his head, Michael continues to whisper. It’s becoming harder and harder not to listen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	28. Three-Hundred One: Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes Sam a few days to learn how to be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A second part of the thing from yesterday. Lucifer and Sam.

It takes Sam a few days to learn how to be alone. He doesn’t have much money, and he doesn’t have anybody to watch his back, and Dean-

He doesn’t want to think about Dean. It makes him feel too guilty.

Besides, he doesn’t have to be alone for very long. Not once he meets Bones.

They’ve got a nice place together. Sam’s getting by, and he’ll figure out how to get some more money soon. The bed is dusty when he finds it, and the sheets still smell musty when he curls up there at night. Bones hops up to keep him warm, and Sam can almost convince himself that he’s happy here.

_Of course you are. You’re finally free, Sam._

The voice in his head does its best to help.

“Doesn’t feel like it,” Sam says, eyes closed. He usually doesn’t talk back, but nobody is here to listen now. Bones doesn’t mind. “I’m gonna need some money soon.”

_And you’ll find it. You’ll survive, because you’re strong._

Sam wants to believe it. He does. He can’t help himself, though. “I… I miss D-”

_Don’t think about him, Sam. Forget about him. You’re better off here._

That’s when Sam stops talking and focuses on trying to fall asleep. He doesn’t want to argue, and he doesn’t want to tell the voice that he thinks it’s wrong.

He ran away all by himself. He’s stuck with it now, and he won’t let himself start to doubt it now. No matter how insistent Dean’s face is on the backs of his eyelids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	29. Three-Hundred Two: Shatter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam isn’t sure how long he’s been asleep, but when he wakes, he’s alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another little bit of the angel blood AU.

Sam isn’t sure how long he’s been asleep, but when he wakes, he’s alone. Michael is nowhere to be seen, and even as Sam tries to listen for movement, he’s left with nothing but the ringing in his ears. It leaves him to start working at his bindings, slow and careful at first, then faster and more frantic as he’s faced with no immediate consequences. The shackles are tight around his wrists, and struggling rubs his skin raw, but he won’t let these hold him. He needs to leave, and he needs to figure out how to free Dean.

The chains don’t get any looser wth his struggles, and eventually, Sam stops, panting for breath. He’s sweating, and he thinks his wrists must be bleeding, but he doesn’t let it slow him down. If the chains won’t give, then maybe- maybe-

There’s no telling how long Michael will be gone. There’s no guarantee that he’s even gone at all; for all Sam knows, he’s simply waiting in the next room, eager to see what his prisoner will do with a moment alone. It makes Sam paranoid, glancing over his shoulder like he’ll catch a hint of blue eyes in the shadows of the warehouse, but here’s nothing. It doesn’t soothe his anxieties, even as he tries to focus on escape.

If not the chains, then… then maybe the chair-

Maybe it’s the building urgency in his chest, or the fear of being caught. The thought of what Michael might do upon his return, or the need to free Dean from his captivity. Sam can’t pinpoint the cause, but as his stress builds up, and he starts to struggle once more, logic leaving him in a fleeting moment of panic-

It feels like a surge of ice through his veins, echoing the memories of the demon blood while acting as their perfect mirror. Something intangible and infinite; something he can’t name, but something he knows to the very core of his being-

The steel shatters around his wrists, crumbling into dust. The power fades as quickly as it appeared, and Sam’s left in shock, heart pounding against his rib cage and threatening to burst straight out of his chest. He feels- he feels-

He feels something deeply familiar, and he shudders with it, folding in on himself as the energy drains from his body. Whatever Michael’s intentions with the injections, whatever end he means to achieve through these experiments, Sam can’t-

He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and stays very still. He can sense it now; Michael’s presence. Something distant and powerful and overwhelming, and Sam is left with no illusions about his freedom. He’ll never be given a chance to escape this place.

He needs to fight if he wants to leave. There’s simply no other choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	30. Three-Hundred Three: Stronger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I know you’re getting stronger, Sam. You can’t hide it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angel blood AU again.

“I know you’re getting stronger, Sam. You can’t hide it.”

Michael is close. Too close; even wearing Dean’s face, it’s overwhelming and Sam feels like he can’t breathe. He’s still in his chair, though the chains remain dust on the ground, and he presses back as far as the space allows him. Still, Michael gives him no space, gripping Sam’s jaw and forcing their eyes to meet.

“I can see it in you.” A faint smile, and Michael’s free hand- it finds Sam’s arm, fingertips trailing along his skin in a bitter parody of the way that Dean used to touch him. A mockery of something intimate. “The grace that flows through your veins. It settles more deeply with every hour that passes. Already, it touches your soul.”

Sam shudders because he can’t help himself. He hates that thought, though it might be a lie meant to provoke exactly this reaction. “Shut up.”

“Your powers are already impressive.” But Michael continues on, his hand finding Sam’s wrist and curling around it in a loose grip. “I’m eager to see how far it might go.”

It’s too much. Sam’s breathing comes quick, and he can feel something rising in him. Something that has become increasingly familiar as the days go by, and something he tries desperately not to enjoy. Something he can’t help, something he needs to-

Michael’s grip on his jaw tightens, and Sam grits his teeth. “I do wonder if you might ever be as powerful as me.”

It flares up hot and fast, and Sam grunts, feeling the power as it bursts out of him. In that same instant, he sees Michael’s eyes glow blue, and then-

Sam’s thrown back several feet, the breath driven out of him as the chair shatters against the ground. He’s left gasping, struggling to right himself, barely able to process what Michael says as he continues.

“Maybe one day.” Michael smiles when Sam wrenches his eyes open, and Sam hates it. He hates seeing that look on his brother’s face, soured by its cruelty. “But not today.”

One day.

One day, Sam thinks, as Michael walks away and leaves him once more. One day, he might be strong enough to win.

The power curls tight in his chest, whispering promises. And for the first time since he was taken- the first time since these experiments began- Sam starts to listen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	31. Three-Hundred Four: Trick-or-Treat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They really just… give you candy? For knocking on the door?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean take Jack out for Halloween. :>

“They really just… give you candy? For knocking on the door?”

Sam hasn’t been trick-or-treating in decades. It’s something he associates with the time before; back when he didn’t know that monsters were real and the world seemed a whole lot safer. Dean would cart him around whichever neighbourhood they were occupying at the time, and they’d come back to the motel room with a few bags of candy and wake up the next morning with stomach-aches and cavities. These days, Halloween is just another day on the job, albeit a busier one than usual.

This year, things are a little different, because suddenly, they’ve got somebody else around.

Jack’s genuine befuddlement around the entire concept of Halloween is endearing. He’s the one who brings up trick-or-treating; he comes to Sam a few days in advance and asks about a commercial he saw on TV. A bunch of kids going door-to-door and getting candy from strangers.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to talk to strangers?” he’d asked then, and Sam had laughed and explained the whole tradition to him. And now-

Now it’s become a bit of a family affair.

Of course Dean was on board right away. Everything else aside, he’s always loved Halloween, if only for the candy. He’s spent the last couple days preparing a costume for himself, and then helping Jack put one together when he asks. It’s nice to see them bond over it. Sam’s not as enthusiastic about the holiday as a general rule, but he wants to give Jack a good experience, so he stays cheerful and nods along when the two of them gush about their upcoming excursion.

Now it’s the night of, and they’re in the car bound for Lebanon, and Jack’s getting nervous. He keeps asking questions, like he’s worried that they’re playing a joke on him. “That doesn’t make any sense. Just… free candy?”

“Free candy,” Dean agrees. He’s decked out in full cowboy gear, because of course he is. Sam has to hide a smile every time he looks his brother’s way. “It’s the best day of the year, next to Christmas. Loads of free candy, and nobody asks any questions. Trust us.”

Jack seems to ponder on that for a moment. He’s wearing little white wings and a halo- his own request, and one that still makes Sam warm to see- and in his lap is an old pillowcase they dug up, ready to be filled with whatever candy they’re offered. “I do.”

Dean drives them around until they find a busy neighbourhood, extensively decorated for the season. Kids are running around with their parents, and older teenagers move in packs from house to house. Sam thinks they might end up looking a little out of place, but it doesn’t matter. “Ready to go?”

Apparently over his nerves, Jack nods, nearly bouncing in his seat. It’s easy to forget how young he really is, but it’s clear in the way his eyes are lit up. “I’m ready!”

With that, he scrambles out of the car, and Sam goes to follow suit until Dean catches his wrist. He glances towards his brother, puzzled, and when Dean reaches up towards his hair with something black in hand-

“You have to be wearing a costume,” Dean tells him seriously, and Sam makes a face as the little kitty ear headband is placed on his head. It’s small for him, but he decides not to protest. It’ll only be for a couple hours. “It’s Halloween, Sam. C'mon.”

And just like that, they’re on their way. The three of them stick out like a sore thumb- two grown men and a teenage boy acting like an excited puppy- but for how happy Jack already is, Sam thinks it’s worth it. Jack’s the one who leads the way, picking out the first house with some bright lights and inflatable ghosts out front, and he marches straight up to the front door, only glancing back at them once before regaining his confidence and raising a hand to knock.

He’s been practicing for this. Sam’s heard him in his room, and it’s precious.

“Trick or treat!” Jack says when a woman answers the door, as happy as Sam’s ever heard him, and it’s impossible not to be cheerful right now.

“We should’ve brought more bags,” Dean says solemnly when they see the full-sized candy bars that Jack walks away with, and Sam laughs, giving his brother a playful nudge as their resident nephilim leads the way to the next house.

Halloween isn’t so bad, Sam decides. Not if he gets to spend it with the people he loves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


End file.
